“Soaking wet, Charlee.” His lashes lowered as he watched his caress. “So fucking ready.”
If he knew what she was ready for, he wouldn’t sound so awed.
He crouched further to the floor, moving her legs to his shoulders, and dragging his lips along her thigh. When he reached the apex of her thighs, he spread her open with his fingers, his inspection scalding.
She squirmed and squeezed her legs around him. “Stop looking.”
He jerked his head up and his eyebrows climbed together. “Why?”
“The scars. They’re disgusting.” She choked back the flashes of Roy ripping and hurting, stealing everything, leaving her numb and empty.
Jay blinked, looked down, and his eyes narrowed. He eased his finger partially in, and she held her breath. He circled her entrance, stretching the skin. She wanted to feel it, tried to shed the shield that deadened her there.
He lowered his face, his breath warm on her thigh. “You should celebrate them.” His gaze drifted to hers and his mouth opened. As she watched with a mixture of horror and thrall, he flicked his tongue over her clit. “They’re a reminder.” Slowly, delicately, he licked along her outer lips. “That you survived.” His tongue passed over the scarred ridges inside her labia. “And healed.”
When he covered her with his mouth, she arched her back, hands flying to his head. His lips played over her as his tongue darted in and out, flicking and stirring. He made her want to feel. Made her want to try. But it was too easy to take herself to that contaminated part of her mind, where whips and canes beat her into numbness.
He swayed his hips with the thrust of his tongue, tasting her inside and out, his fingers digging into her thighs. One hand moved up to knead her breast. The other held her open for his mouth.
Doing her best to reach climax, she ground against his face and raked his hair, twisting and pulling. She swiveled her hips, tried to find the spot. Several minutes passed, maybe an hour. Small sensations gathered, but she couldn’t hang onto them.
Sexual tension clotted the room, thickening by the minute. He added a second finger and increased his effort. More pressure, more speed, and still she couldn’t let go.
Without slowing his hand, he buried his face against her contracting stomach. “Come for me, Charlee.”
“Harder.”
A third finger joined the first two, and his thrusts increased in rhythm and strength. Not enough.
“Harder, Jay. Like you’re punching me there.”
“Fuck,” he moaned against her damp skin. The muscles flexed in his pounding arm. He slid up her body, taking one of her legs with him, bending her in half. His knee landed on the seat beside her, and his dick ground against the back of her raised thigh. He kissed her fiercely, desperately, and his fingers drove in and out with hard hitting velocity.
She wanted to come. She wanted to hurt. What a worthless slut. His beautiful girl was so dirty and pathetic. She whimpered against his mouth and her shield quivered, threatened to collapse. No, she couldn’t let it. Couldn’t let her repulsive desires tumble out around him. She held it in place, stayed her orgasm, but she couldn’t stop the burn ripping through her sinuses or the achy feeling in her eyes.
His mouth was relentless, moving over hers, sucking her strength, and hammering her wall. “Fucking hell, you’re sexy.” He spread kisses over her lips as he banged her with his hand. “And you smell incredible.” He peppered a trail along her jaw. “You’re gorgeous.” His voice cracked and he dragged his nose along hers. “And brave.”
The storm around her heart thundered against his. She tried to blink away the wet blur as he caught her wretched wails in draining kisses.
“You’re perfect. You’re…” He leaned back and choked on a gasp, his eyes wide. “Crying?”
48
A tear curled into Charlee’s mouth. Embarrassed, she swiped at the streak on her cheek and squared her shoulders. “I’m not crying.”
Jay moved his hands to her knees and looked up, his face a white sheet. “What have I done?” he whispered.
In the next heartbeat, his arms were around her, lifting her. He took her seat, settled her sideways on his thighs, and pressed her face against his neck. “I fucked up. I’m so sorry.”
What? She pushed against his chest and grabbed his face with both hands. “You did not fuck up. It’s me. I fucked up.”
He flinched at her touch, but before she could move her hands, he gripped her arms to hold them in place.
She drew in a ragged breath. It was awful feeling guilty when she didn’t mean to upset him. Maybe it wasn’t guilt at all, but remorse over her inability to make him happy. She leaned in and brushed her mouth over his in an attempt to bring back the moment they had just shared.